Reconciliation
by Auron Belmont
Summary: DQ8 post game. Ninth and final in a series. It's so easy to hate. But it's much harder to ask for forgiveness, when the person you hated isn't around anymore. Chapter 5 final.
1. Hiding and Seeking

Chapter 1 -- Hiding and Seeking

"She's lost, you say?"

"Well, not lost. Just...we can't find 'er."

"She wins 'ide and seek, 'ands down."

A sigh. "Fine. I shall go look for her. You two, it's almost time for the evening meal, so wash up and help Miss Abigail with the dishes." Before a protest could be uttered, he added, "Without complaints, mind you."

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, sir."

As he watched the two young children race off to their task with his penetrating stare of green, the man straightened up. _Wonderful._ One could only guess where a child might end up in this rambling building.

The heavy tread of his boots on the wood paneled floor marked his passage; any workers flitting here and there stopped at the sound and nodded respectfully as he stalked by. He paused then, shielding his eyes from the reflection of sunlight through a window. If he didn't hurry, he might need a torch in an hour or so.

_And I doubt that's a wise course of action with all the wood about._ A hand raked through long black hair as he strove to think. _If I wanted to hide somewhere and not be caught, where would I go?_

"Master Marcello?"

Distracted from thought, Marcello turned to greet his visitor. "Miss Misty. Sorry, but I'm in a bit of a hurry. Apparently, someone is a little too good at hide and seek."

"That what I wanted to tell you, sir." At that, he fixed his gaze on her until she fidgeted with her smock.

"Tell me what, then?" he asked, trying to inject more patience into his tone. Daily, Marcello reminded himself that his workers were not Templars. A parade ground bark didn't endear himself well to the employees and even less to the children.

"I think I saw little Brianna run for the second floor. She might be 'idin' in a supply room or summat, sir."

"Aren't those usually locked?"

"Of course, sir, but we'd been doin' some cleanin' and all. She might 'ave slipped into one of 'em." The young woman clutched her smock with both hands in front of her stomach. "Nothin' that could fall an 'urt 'er, I promise!"

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. "I understand," Marcello replied, silently tapping the seconds against his thigh, forcing himself to calm down. "I'm sure Brianna is probably hiding in a box of Midwinter Festival decorations." Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. "If you'd be so kind as to help the other children get ready for the evening meal, I would appreciate it. I won't be joining you, if this search goes on as long as I think."

"As ye will, Master." With a curtsy, Misty walked quickly down the hall.

_Bloody marvelous. Another person who shrinks when I want a word._ Suppressing a snarl, Marcello climbed the stairs two at a time, startling an elderly woman carrying laundry. "I say! You in a hurry, Master?"

"Just trying to find a stray sheep. Have you seen Brianna up here?"

The old woman hefted the laundry basket more securely in her arms. "I thought I saw a young girl up here a little bit ago. Can't say it was the little rapscallion. Down that way it was." She inclined her head down the corridor.

"Thank you," Marcello said fervently.

"Not at all, Master. Just mind the children don't see you running up the stairs like you were racin'. Gives 'em devilish thoughts, it does."

"I think I'll be all right, as long as I'm not sliding down the banister as though I were riding a sabrecat." Dryness filled his voice, having caught three children last week doing just that.

With a chuckle, the old woman left him to his work. _Fine then. Again, if I am a child, where would I hide up here? _

At 31, Marcello did not ever expect to need such a skill. But, when one took over an orphanage, a phalanx of unknown occupational hazards presented themselves. Children, he found, leaped from ridiculous heights, considered everything a drawing surface and did everything in their power to make a grown man scream with frustration.

On the other hand, as master of the orphanage, he could stop an argument with a ferocious glare, pluck a frightened tree climber from the branches of the oak tree in the front yard and tell a bed time story. With varying voices of characters.

In fact, if he recalled, the children had clamored for a group story time. It might do much to soothe his temper. Marcello had noted for the past week and a half, he'd had a terrible time controlling the anger in his voice.

He knew very well why. But that was neither here nor there. He couldn't be angry with these people. They couldn't have known until it was too late. No one could have.

_Right. Find the girl and think about which story the children want to hear, Marcello._

The first doors he tested remained firmly shut. Not likely a child could force them open. Various other rooms revealed spare bedrooms, a cupboard of Midwinter Festival decorations, and a linen closet. No Brianna.

Puzzled at where else to search, Marcello began to head back toward the staircase when the sound of a creaking door arrested his attention. "Hello?" he called out. "Who's there?"

Confused, he walked back the way he came, noting every other room he'd checked. If the sound didn't come from these doors then where did it come from? There was only one other room and no one used it anymore.

The temper Marcello held in check all day long snapped. Who would dare! He'd given the strictest orders never to touch anything in the room, save the cleaning maids. Even then, it was only at the rarest of occasions. Anger propelled him down the hall to the half-open door. Hands shaking with rage, he reached unsteadily for the door frame. "Whoever is in this room is violating one of my strongest rules. If that person doesn't reveal themselves immediately, they will find themselves in serious trouble."

A rustling of cloth immediately followed his proclamation. A small girl in a homespun smock scooted into the hall. "Mr. Marcello, I just wanted a place to hide!"

"I told everyone in this house not to touch this room. Why did you go in there?" Blood thundered in his veins and sounded in his ears.

"I just..." Brianna sniffled and wiped her eyes. "I wanted to be there because it was always happy there before. But it's all diff'rent now. 'm sorry, Mr. Marcello."

With every fiber in his being, Marcello fought not to strike the child. Instead, he pointed back toward the staircase. "Get yourself to the table. The evening meal will be served. I will think of an appropriate punishment for you, Miss Brianna." Whimpering, the little girl fled.

Poised at the doorway, he began to close the door, when he realized Brianna had hid somewhere. Goddess, perhaps she disturbed something in the room. Mouth growing dry, Marcello faced two choices: waiting for the maids to clean the room or stepping foot in the only room of the orphanage he'd never seen.

_Surely it might be all right. Just to straighten whatever is amiss and run back to my office. _

He'd never wanted to look in the room, but apparently chance had other ideas. Taking in a huge breath, as though steeling himself for danger, Marcello push the door open.

The pounding of his heart filled the world with sound. But nothing else stirred in the room. The light of the setting sun through glass windows in the far wall cloaked the furnishings and Marcello in crimson purple. Taking a few steps in, he took in room's writing desk, bookshelves, wardrobe closet and bed. At the sight of the bed, he realized where Brianna had hidden herself.

Sighing, he reached for the covers and meticulously straightened them on the bed. There. Now everything was as it should be here. As he set the pillows to rights, he brushed against a nightstand set next to the bed. A metallic rattling broke through the sound of Marcello's steadying heart. He froze. _She didn't PUT something in here, did she? How dare she disturb this room! _

Unwilling to look inside, but unwilling for _anything_ to violate the state of the room, he pulled the drawer open. The culprit of the sound rattled into view. A ring. Picking it up, Marcello glanced at the design. And nearly dropped it to the floor. Blood drained from his face as the familiar design revealed itself.

Hard not to recognize this ring, having worn it himself for a good long time. He'd just never expected to see it again, considering he'd thrown it away. But apparently, someone else thought it worth keeping.

Marcello palmed the ring and closed his eyes. _This is why I didn't want anything here. So nothing could be disturbed. So I couldn't ruin anything. _But yet, the ring rested in a drawer. His ring. A sign of something? But what?

He breathed quietly, steadying his nerves. Opening his eyes, he took in the room again and saw one of the drawers of the writing desk didn't quite close. Did that girl touch everything in this room while looking for a hiding place? Goddess.

A few steps drew him to the desk. He sat down in the chair and pulled the drawer open. A thick bound book wedged itself somehow inside. With a grunt, he yanked it from its hiding place. _Well, I doubt a child would be wandering around with something this heavy._ Setting it on the desk, he flipped the tome open. Writing covered the pages.

-- Instead of the daily ramblings of the orphanage and usual dabbles at bad poetry, I thought I'd try writing a few stories. Or rather, conversations I once had with people that I remember the strongest. I have the vaguest sense I need to do this now, rather than later. --

Painfully, Marcello swallowed. Oh no, this definitely sat here before Brianna opened the door. He should close this book, close this room and never enter it again.

Which is what he told himself and mostly believed. Yet he found his hand pulling the book closer, smoothing out the pages. _I found my Templar's ring in this room. Perhaps...perhaps he wouldn't mind me reading this._

Fear fought with a surge of longing to understand this former room's occupant. Decades of rage had clouded his mind. Up until nearly the very last day. Now, Marcello didn't know what he felt.

But if he ever wanted to know anything now, this book would be the only way.

Sighing, Marcello placed his ring in his pocket and closed the book. Not here, though. His office would be better. _I'd feel like I could be brave there. _

The book wasn't nearly so heavy as it seemed, but a lifetime of animosity dragged it down, adding layers of weights and regrets.

_But I will read this, _Marcello vowed, locking the door to his office and sitting at his proper desk. "Angelo, forgive me," he whispered and opened the book.


	2. Indulgence and Idealist

The light fading from outside, Marcello lit the wick of his lantern and fussed with the light before he deemed it of the proper level of illumination. He ignored the trembling in his fingers and turned his attention to the words on the pages.

Ink strengthened and faded in random intervals. A few blots here and there indicated some trouble in regulating the ink from the quill. For all the irregularities, the writing read clear.

-- I suppose I should do this in some kind of order, but as it's just for my benefit, these little remembrances will be written as I recall them. I'd spent my youth growing up in Maella Abbey under the care of Abbot Francisco. He took care of me, but could not shield me from everything... --

Well this didn't seem right. Angelo chewed his lip and stood on the balls of his feet, trying to peer over the table. Punishment dictated he had to stand with buckets full of water against the wall. No one said anything about not starting directly ahead.

Which is why he saw two men, a priest and a pilgrim exchanging something. It seemed odd since it took place in a secluded chamber and not in the main receiving area. People often gave gifts to Maella Abbey, usually in the form of clothes or livestock. The reason Angelo found himself in punishment was for shooing a flock of geese into the Templar quarters by mistake. How was he supposed to know they'd run not for the kitchen but for the library?

This looked different. Even perched in a corner of the room Angelo heard the faint clink of coins and the rustle of paper. "There you are. One good pre-indulgence, my good man," said the priest, patting the bag.

"Thank you, sir. It's always good to have one's sins pardoned in advance. I'm sure the Goddess won't be too upset with me ruining my rival."

Angelo frowned. He understood the basic concept of indulgences. If a person suffered from sin, they could come to the abbey or any church and offer money to the poor as a sacrifice and penance. Then the priest would hear confession and write that person a slip of paper, saying on behalf of the Goddess, the sins were forgiven. The idea behind writing down the sin was to post it in the home and be forever reminded of a time when one faltered. Thus, one could remember not to sin again and live a life virtuously until the Goddess called that person to heaven.

This didn't look anything like that. You couldn't pay sacrifice money before you sinned, nor did you pay it to the priest directly. That would make it look like some kind of bribe.

Priest and pilgrim shook hands and left the room. At that moment, one of the buckets of water nearly slipped from Angelo's sweaty palms. Grunting, he caught hold of it again, but the slosh of water sounded through the chamber. The pilgrim had already departed, but the priest turned and pinned him to the wall by gaze alone.

"Angelo, what are you doing here?" the priest asked, crossing the room in brisk strides.

"'M on punishment, Father. 'M supposed to stand at this spot until they come get me." Angelo's eyes widened. For some reason, he felt very much afraid.

"Oh are you? And I suppose you saw everything?"

Because he'd been taught by monks and priests to always tell the truth, he nodded. Without warning, the priest slapped him across the face. Shocked, both buckets of water fell from his nerveless grip.

"Oh, and look what you've done. Gotten the floor sopping wet. You'll be punished for that." Quickly the priest grabbed a hold of the boy's collar. "Should you ever tell anyone, they'll punish you for lying. You never saw anything. Unless, of course, you'd like me to tell Marcello? I'm sure a newly minted Templar like him would love to punish a wicked little boy like you."

Indeed he would. The children in the abbey whispered about the wicked looking switches Templars used on disobedient boys and girls. Marcello wouldn't hesitate to use the switch on him for any reason. Gulping, Angelo nodded. "I...I'll go to kitchens and tell them I dropped my water."

"That's a good lad. Be sure you do that."

As the priest left, an ugly feeling raised its newborn head in Angelo's heart. He'd never become a priest like that man. He'd study to be a Templar instead. Maybe they had better hearts.

-- Of course, how was I to know that corruption seeped not just in the priesthood of the Abbey, but throughout the hierarchy of the Church? And that priest, I later found out, worked to start the less honest version of indulgences under good old Captain Marcello. --

At the last phrase, Marcello almost heard the sarcastic sing-song of his brother's voice. He wanted to reach back in time and smack the boy in the abbey and the man writing the words. And yet, he couldn't deny the truth.

As captain of the Templars, he did implement the widespread use of indulgences, mostly to fleece the rich believers. Aristocrats burned him and they deserved to be parted from their money. Although most of the money genuinely went to honest causes, like feeding and housing the orphans in the abbey, the rest went toward pet causes. A good chunk of gold went toward building a sizable bribe, something large enough to attract the eye of a High Priest on Savella Cathedral.

"And we all know how that turned out," Marcello murmured to himself. Amassing a bribe, getting that power, being at the height of everything he could reach. Not that long ago, it seemed to be the most important thing.

Thinking about where he once stood in the place of things left a sour taste in his mouth. _All that power in my hand. And now? Truly? _Imagine putting one of the children in place of his brother in the story. Any man, even a priest who'd go so far as to manhandle a child, would feel the brunt of his wrath. He didn't drip compassion and love for his charges like the workers, but by the Goddess, let a stranger try to approach them with mischief and they would sorely regret it.

But back then? If he'd known of a child getting manhandled like that? Especially his brother? In his heart, Marcello probably would not have cared. Angelo appeared even then to know that quite well. Yet, it didn't stop him from ceaselessly angling for his attention.

This was exactly why Marcello had refused to enter Angelo's old office. He did not want to resurrect the old memories of the deceased. He didn't want to think about all the old agonies and animosity between them. But most importantly, he did not want to dwell on how in spite of everything, it appeared his brother had loved him all along.

Far better to keep it all hidden away for all time. Far better than facing his glaring mistakes. Far better to never understand the object of his hatred for thirty years.

Marcello tried to swallow down a burning sensation in his throat. He could put this book away or even burn it in the fireplace. Shut the door at the far end of the second floor. Never set foot in it again. Or he could keep reading the book and take a hard look at his past and begin to comprehend his many many wrongs.

In a way, his taking over of the orphanage was his own idea of penitence. He certainly didn't do it out of love. He thought it might be enough to make sure nothing happened to the orphanage. Just a small way to pay back Abbot Francisco for raising him.

_If it is in me to hold penitence over myself, perhaps I do feel something after all. But if I keep reading, I'll feel more and more. I just know that if I know him more, I'll regret more never knowing him while he lived._

His hand strayed to his pocket, toying with his Templar captain's ring. _But maybe he feels regret as well. He never knew _me _either, because he also raged quietly. All he had was my ring. The ring I said meant nothing to me. _However, Angelo had kept the ring faithfully near his bedside.

"Damn you, Angelo," he cursed softly. "Damn you for making me think." Angrily he slammed a fist against his desk and flipped the pages of the book.

-- My life took a massive turn when I was forced to join four people and a horse on a journey to find a jester. Little did I know that they would all change my life for the better. Abbey life didn't leave me trusting many people and my views had grown quite jaded since spotting the scene with the bribe. I didn't become real friends with them until I fell ill around Baccarat. But before that I realized I wanted their companionship. --

On the winding road to Pickham, the collective party ground to a halt to stare.

"What? What are you all looking at?" Angelo asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I cannot BELIEVE what you just said! That's how you really feel?!" Trode shrilly exclaimed from his perch.

"Have you no sense of romance in your soul?" Jessica glared at him, hands on her hips. "Not everyone thinks of being with the one you love as a death sentence, you know."

"Ya cold-hearted, mate. I can understan' that a bloke and a bird nag at each other after a few years but cor blimey."

Akagi, the Trodain guardsman, merely shook his head and continued down the path.

Angelo blinked in surprise. What'd he said, more or less, was this: The king and queen of Ascantha had a perfect love affair because they'd both been young and still in the delirious stage of love. Since it got cut off at the beginning, they didn't have time to grow old and become sick of even looking at each other year after year, crabbing and arguing.

It was the truth, at least as the Templar saw it. Love affairs started lurid and full of passion but like all things, eventually died and twisted into bitterness. He'd never allowed his own affairs to progress in a serious direction. That and the abbey didn't lend itself well to conducting a passionate _anything._

The rest of the party turned their backs on him and continued toward Pickham. Feeling oddly chastised, Angelo followed a few paces behind. "I'm traveling with a group of idealists," he murmured to himself. Imagine, to think they really existed.

"Anyway, granddad, you'll like Pickham. Real down 'ome sort o' place, yeah? 'S rough 'round the edges, but no one will care what you look like there."

"Humph. I refuse to believe anything you say about this disreputable sounding town until I see it myself."

Licking his lips, the Templar found himself unable to speak. Should he actually apologize? It wasn't something he normally did for any of his behavior. Then again, as conversation switched to how good (or bad) of a place Pickham would be, his comment seemed to be ignored. At a loss, he followed silently behind.

As the journey continued, he kept most of his cynical comments to himself, instead listening for a change. He knew he could never be an idealist, but it felt soothing to his soul to be around such refreshingly cheerful people.

It wasn't until on the road to Argonia that they all knew each other a little better that they didn't mind his sharp tongue and sharper words.

-- It was quite a shock to me that people could be kind without trying to get something out of you. Other than friendship, I suppose. I know that they saved me from becoming something dark and twisted. I would like to think I wouldn't have turned out as malevolent as Dhoulmagus, but I can't predict the future. I do know that had they not turned up, I would have been expelled from the abbey sooner or later. Not caring about anyone or anything.

-- If I am honest, I would have used other people for what they could do for me. I probably would have ended up exactly like my father, penniless and liver barely functioning but without a random plague to kill me off. I find it interesting that I know myself better now than I did so long ago. You really do need kindness in your heart in order to see ugliness for what it is. --

Could reading be torture? Marcello didn't know, but the pain in his chest wasn't imaginary.


	3. Realism and Realization

Marcello never thought his brother's life could unknowingly parallel his. _Parallel but then turn perpendicular_, he admitted to himself. If he thought further on it, Angelo only showed a side of himself that he wanted others to see and kept darkness festering inside. Just like his brother.

Unlike his brother, Angelo went away, at Marcello's order, with a group of travelers. In doing so, he'd allowed his brother to be changed. Those people: Akagi, Jessica, Yangus, King Trode and Princess Medea, these were the ones responsible.

On the last day, he talked to them for the first time not as enemies. Then with the funeral and the eulogy still fresh in his mind, Marcello had abruptly left, sunk into a sense of disbelief. The sensation of numbness made it possible for him to even give a eulogy. Honestly, he could not recall what he'd even said, only that he'd had to be the one, with the others stunned with grief.

Even now, almost a year since his passing, Marcello felt a chill on his heart, unable to express anything regarding his brother's passing. Except, of course, to erase his presence from the house, something the former Templar captain had been mostly successful with.

Reading this book, however, made his insides feel like a plate of dark glass with a spiderweb of cracks over its surface. A lesser man might resort to drinking and the thought seemed tempting, even for someone who imbibed alcohol rarely. Marcello sighed slowly. He wished he'd never found this book. Because now, having continued to read it, he couldn't stop now. He never left things half-done. _Will there be anything left of me or am I truly this brittle inside?_ His fingers turned a page.

-- In spite of seeing what an ugly person I could truly be, my friends didn't turn me away. After I told them the truth on the way to Argonia, we came to an understanding. Sadly, I still couldn't believe in them all the way until we ended up in Purgatory Island. I truly regret being so Goddess cursed blind. But being able to see now, it gives me new insight into events of the past. This one in particular makes me smile, because as much as I yelled at them for being the most meandering, purposeless group of travelers that no one in their right mind should approach, I shared a bit of the cracked nature. Only, in a more sophisticated manner, I assure you. --

"I fink we'd be doin' the world a favor if'n we dropped 'im in the river." Yangus looked up from sharpening his axe to the loudly snoring figure.

"No doubt you would, but think of the problems that would cause. Someone would miss Prince Charmless," Trode murmured, not wanting to awaken the chubby prince.

"He probably wouldn't sink. Too much fat."

Akagi nearly spit out his water. Yangus laughed quietly. "Cor, choir boy, back in form?"

Angelo nibbled on a chunk of cheese and swallowed before answering. "I'm deadly serious. If we're going to do something to him, we need a better plan than that."

"Who said anything about doing anything to him. We need him to get to the royal hunting grounds."

"Ah, to fulfill the promise of the King of Argonia. Tell me, why in the world would he consider keeping his promise about lending us the magic mirror?" The Templar gestured toward the sleeping prince. "Akagi, why not face facts that we are a convenient means to an end for the king?"

The party leader fiddled with his boomerang, not looking up. He felt all eyes on him. "I'm not saying we aren't convenient. But we have to see this through or else we'll never get the mirror."

"Not true. We could steal it somehow. Or even hold Charmless hostage."

Silence. "You know, just when I think I can never be surprised about anything that pops out of your vulgar mouth, you soar to new heights," Trode hissed at him

"I'm not fond of the butterball either but that's low, Angelo! What good would come of it?" Jessica asked.

Before Yangus could offer a retort, the Templar cut him off. "Apparently, I wasn't sitting in the same throne room with all of you. Apparently all of you were so dazzled by the riches and opulence of the castle that all of you have forgotten an important fact.

"This is supposed to be a sacred rite of passage for the heirs of this kingdom, if I'm understanding this all correctly. One prince goes in to fight one lizard to prove one's worth."

"What's your point, Angelo?" Akagi asked quietly.

He paused, finishing his cheese and drinking his water. "Do any of you honestly think this prince will do this? Truly? We don't even need three guesses to figure out who'll probably do the fighting. If this king is a canny monarch, he would know or guess what the outcome would be.

"And yet, despite knowing this, the king sends us out, clearly bending the sacredness of the rite to the point of breakage. If the king is willing to skirt the rules of tradition for the sake of his son, how in the world can we trust him to keep a promise? If the honor of his country can be so malleable, his ability to keep a promise is equally as suspect."

Everyone chewed over the words as Madea chewed the grass on the ground. "Guv, 'e's got a point," Yangus said finally. "I know Angelo got a thing against 'ristocrats and th' like, but 'e's got somefin there."

"I can assure you, a king would never do such a thing!"

"Ah, King Trode, but you've never met the man in person. You can't really say what he would and would not do."

"Wouldn't it make his subjects not trust him if he never kept his word?"

"Possible, my lovely mage. True, we didn't see anything like it here, but even you heard the talk of the townsfolk. Even they know what kind of person the prince is. They'd be quick to question this entire situation if they knew about it, don't you think?"

"Angelo, you've made your point. As ugly and blunt of a point it is, it could be the truth." Akagi sat up and paced around their campfire. "We could be wasting time here and we might not get the magic mirror. If that's the case, what would you do? How far would you go to get the mirror?"

Surprised, Angelo's jaw dropped before he closed it, furiously thinking. "Well, we have the prince. As I said, we could hold him hostage. I wouldn't really hurt him. Perhaps tie him to a tree." He grinned. "Let him live off his own fat for a bit. Then ask for the mirror. As soon as we had it in hand, we'd run for the ship. Argonia doesn't have a navy to speak of. We'd be gone before they could react."

"You know, I actually like this plan. Perhaps put an apple in his mouth and make him more appetizing to the monsters."

Yangus and Angelo chuckled at Jessica's addition to the plan.

"It's an idea, Angelo. But the thing is, even if the king's word is malleable, mine isn't. We're going to see this through." Akagi, seeing the protest about to erupt, said quickly, "But if it turns out you're right, we could do something less drastic than offer the prince as monster bait. If things turn out as you think they do, with us doing all the fighting and then no magic mirror as a reward, we'll opt for something else.

"You must be a devious influence on me, Angelo. I was thinking we could extort the mirror from the king with the threat of telling the townsfolk what really happened."

"Now see here," Trode started, alarmed at the three identical looks of glee.

"'S diamond, guv! Let's go for it!"

"That'll teach him right for ogling me."

Angelo sniffed. "It's good that you've realized my worth. A little realism never hurt anyone."

Akagi smiled a tiny bit. "No, not really."

-- You know, they never questioned my sanity. Kidnapping royalty and extortion? Really. It tickled me that for the rest of the trip, Trode carried on on how my idea would have worked so _well _in light of the events of that adventure. I see now that it's where we really started blending into each other. I didn't have to be a sunny idealist because the person who I was would be accepted as is. That truly felt so good. --

"Goddess, you're insane," Marcello whispered to the written pages. Insane and familiar. He'd always suspected but never had proof that Angelo disliked the aristocracy as much as he did.

An ache began somewhere in his stomach. He'd never thought to ask Angelo about it even though it seemed the most obvious connection between them. Reading about the deep-seated hatred reminded Marcello uncomfortably of himself. _But if this story's true, 'tis hatred mixed with harsh truth. Even if we did talk, I don't think Angelo would have helped me in my schemes._

But suppose Angelo did aid him? Would they have been unstoppable together? Or a question best left unanswered? He sighed and turned a page, scanning a few terse entries before his eyes alighted on a bold phrase.

-- I never told them I'm going to die. I wonder if they might know. It was hard enough, sitting in that bed with all of them around me and hearing that I could never be an archer or a healer ever again. Roland wanted them to leave for a bit while he wanted to tell me something, I assumed private things you only share with you and your local doctor or healer. Even I didn't see it coming. --

The old man sat on the edge of the bed and turned toward Angelo. "Lad, I've spelled you, listened to your heart and lungs, did everything I can and thought this over."

"Thought what over?" the Templar asked tiredly, sinking back into his pillows.

"There's no other way I can say this to you. Angelo, you won't live to see 30."

Fogged with illness, Angelo blinked. "I...I don't understand what you mean."

The old man squeezed one of the Templar's pale hands. "Your life has been cut short by this. You'll recover from this, but your body won't last. You won't live to see 30."

Nothing else was said and in the long minutes, Angelo's eyes widened with increasing horror. "I took care of everybody. They depended on me. I had to give them everything. Are you saying because I did that, then I die?"

"Lad, I think you did amazing to have all of you stay in one piece. Especially against the Lord of Darkness. But from what I can tell, the strain of the journey coupled with the viciousness of his attacks on you have crushed your natural defenses. If you want to blame someone, I'd blame that Dark Lord."

Numbly, Angelo felt his eyes sting. "So...so that's it then. I'm done."

"Not really, lad."

"What do you mean?"

"Had your friend not found you when he did, I don't think I'd be having this conversation with you now. Your body was about to quit then and there. But here we are."

Angelo sniffed and vainly scrubbed at his eyes. "Are you suggesting I should be happy about this?"

"Not really. But in a way, you being alive is spitting on the Dark Lord. He probably thought you'd be dead. And here you are."

"Spitting on the Dark Lord, eh?" Sniff. "I like that idea. Tell me, will I see 25 at all?"

"It's more likely, yes. But I can't promise that either."

"I see." Angelo drew his hand away and buried his face between them. "Please, can I be alone for a while?"

-- I had thought many things in my life were difficult. But hearing that news is the hardest thing of all. I feel well enough today, but sometimes I get so sleepy. It comes and it goes. How long do I have until my candle burns out at both ends?

-- The most irrational thing of all, as I sat in that room by myself, nearly hysterical with weeping, is that I wished I was small again and my brother could be there. --

"What?" Marcello barely heard his own exclamation as he frantically read the deteriorating handwriting.

-- I wish I was young again and he could be there and he'd be kind to me and make this all go away but my brother hates me he'll never see me again and he'll never know that even now I'm so afraid because he thinks I'm a curse and should never be born and he'll get his wish finally and I hope it'll make him happy --

The words abruptly stopped as a huge rip arced down the page. The force of it reached through several pages beyond the entry, gouging a deep rift.

Hands trembling, Marcello purposefully closed the book. He tried to stand but somehow failed and sank to his knees on the floor. Why did he not drip blood from his chest? Shouldn't he be bleeding from some wound, with the glass shattered in his heart?

Almost a year. Almost a year with this coldness, almost a year he'd been gone. But now it broke. What could he do? What in the world could he do?

"I'm not happy you're gone. Goddess _curse you _for making me feel! DAMN YOU!"

To be continued...


	4. Facing Others and Jagged Grief

They simply wouldn't stop staring. Not that Marcello blamed them. With an awakened sense of realization, he wondered why no one tried to threaten him, stab him, kill him. The citizens of Trodain instead gave him a wide berth as the guardsmen walked alongside.

"Their Highnesses weren't sure if you'd be visiting them, beggin' your pardon, but posted us to watch out for you," said the armored gentleman to his left.

"We was gonna stop the watch in a few hours until you showed up," his companion seconded.

"I appear to be fond of continually defying everyone's expectations, including my own," Marcello murmured. Louder, he asked, "Is everyone else present and accounted for?"

"Yes, sir. Everyone else got here a few days ago."

Well, that would at least save on repeating himself more than once. Steeling his courage for the task, he clenched a travel bag tight in his hands.

When he told the orphanage workers he'd be visiting Trodain, the uniform blank looks conveyed their confusion, if not their surprise. He never highlighted the reason for his sojourn, but he gathered a few of them came to the correct conclusion.

Whether a delusion of his own imaginings or no, a number of the staff seemed...kinder? Sympathetic? Hardly. Not to someone like him. Not to someone still privately reeling with newly discovered grief.

Lest his mind travel down that painful path littered with broken glass, Marcello mentally drew himself in and steadied his hand. All he wanted to do was deliver the journal to the people who really ought to read it. _They're his family. They would appreciate having his last words to always have on hand to read._

He'd read a few more stories, reading on the adventures the party experienced on the way to saving the world. Did they really find a land of Dragovians? Fight a ghost of a pirate? Traverse the castle in the sky?

Some stories even Angelo never quite told. After a usual ramble about the orphanage, several pages appeared ripped from near the spine of the book. A large sentence dominated the next page:

--IT WAS ONLY A DREAM.--

More tales of events past and that time's present continued from there.

"They're through here, sir."

"Thank you." Marcello proceeded through the garden alone.

A brilliant sun dipped in the west, painting the sky pink and purple. Lanterns already stood lit in their posts. The heady scent of flowers filled the air, almost making him sneeze. Winding his way through the sculpted paths of foliage, Marcello reached the end of the garden and the beginning of the open swatch of grassy hill. At the top of hill sat a majestic tree. The type, he couldn't determine, but it was the kind of tree that invited people to sit underneath it, shaded by its mighty branches.

He froze. _I can't do this._

How many times in the last few days did he tell himself this? He'd honestly lost count. Trembling in place, his gaze wandered over the length of the tree.

_I said I couldn't enter the room and I did. I said I couldn't touch anything in the room and I did. I said I wouldn't take the book and I did. I said I wouldn't read it and I did. I said I didn't want to know and understand and I think I might be. I said I didn't want to visit them on the anniversary of his death and here I am. So pick up your bloody feet, Marcello, and WALK._

One. Two. Three. Four. Step by painful step, he drew ever closer to the picnic.

Wait, picnic?

On the opposite side of the tree, Akagi, Medea, Trode, Yangus and Jessica gathered around a spread of food, drinking, talking and occasionally laughing.

Well. He certainly hadn't expected this. It might make the task marginally more bearable.

No one spotted him until he nearly stepped on them. King Trode, who looked remarkably the same despite being human now, saw him first. "Well! Here's a face we weren't sure of seeing. Marcello!"

"King Trode," Marcello replied. "You look...much improved without a curse."

The others in turn turned to look at him, displaying surprise. After a period of unbroken silence, Jessica ventured, "Marcello. We had no idea if you'd be here, but we saved a place for you."

"Thank you." He noted any kind of levity before his arrival abruptly vanished. _Not surprising I cast a dark pall on everything. _Facing away from the tree seemed the best way to get this over with quickly.

"I'm glad you accepted my invitation," Akagi said. "You never responded, so we didn't know what to think."

"I would not have accepted it normally, save for recent events. I have found...oh forgive me, I didn't notice." With his mind elsewhere, Marcello failed to realize the bundle Medea held in her arms. "I suppose congratulations are in order?"

"Blimey! Another excuse for a round of drinks? Don't mind if I do!" The short, stout man, with looks not even some mothers could love, poured wine into goblets. "The guv's been tellin' us stories about 'is little one, Troicia."

"She is a darling thing, only fusses a bit here and there," said her mom, patting her on the back.

"Obviously gets her looks from you. Oh, maybe some Akagi thrown in there too," Jessica teased, sipping her goblet.

"You're too kind."

"My granddaughter's birth was quite the celebration a few months back! Of course she'll be the finest princess this kingdom has ever has. Well, saving my daughter, of course."

As Trode nattered on, Akagi raised his goblet and smiled wryly to Marcello. "Isn't it lovely to hear all these things about my daughter as though I had nothing to do with it?"

Not expecting the comment, Marcello nearly choked. It sounded so like something Angelo would say it took him off guard. _He did say they all started bleeding into each other as the journey progressed. _"Well, I believe you might have had just a little to do with it."

"That's why I tell people and then they go back to cooing over how beautiful she is."

"But she is so sweet," Jessica said, taking the tiny bundle from Medea's arms.

"Gettin' in some practice?"

"Shut your face, Yangus. You're disturbing Troicia."

So easy. It would be so easy to sit and relax here and imagine being welcomed in. But he had a task to fulfill. Setting the travel pack to the ground, Marcello slipped out the journal.

"Here. This really belongs to all of you. I happened upon it by chance at the orphanage."

"Let's see that." While Akagi picked up the book and idly thumbed through it, Jessica said, "So how are you getting on there?"

"At where? The orphanage? It proceeds as well as can be. We find homes for children, they sometimes get into trouble. The workers there truly care for their welfare. I've learned how to deal with more children afoot as I was growing up in the abbey."

"Oh, I remember that scheme! Too bad we never tied Charmless to a tree," Akagi said aloud, chuckling.

Several heads swiveled his way. "Whassit, guv?"

"It's a journal written by Angelo."

The simple statement resulted in a barely contained uproar of "let me see!"

Marcello could not quite restrain the curl of a smile at his lips as they all fought amongst themselves to read his brother's words. _Yes, this is where this belongs. _He'd wait until their attention became truly diverted, then quietly walk away, never to return.

"I remember some o' these tales! But 'e left out the one about poker."

Groans ensued. "Goddess, not the poker," Akagi sighed.

The former Templar captain froze in the act of rising, sitting himself quickly. A story not in the journal? The insatiable need to know more about the brother he'd lost forced him to abort his plan. "My brother was overly fond of the game. I never understood it."

"We didn't either. Even when he tried to teach us in..." The mage stilled her sentence and looked away.

"Taught you where?" Marcello asked.

Trode supplied the answer, his voice quiet. "Probably on that bloody Purgatory Island."

* * *

Angelo bit back a curse. "For the last time, two of a kind is good, three of a kind is better and flushes trump either of those. How hard can that possibly be to keep straight?"

"Wait wot about a straight now?"

"Goddess, I could MURDER you, Yangus!" The Templar would have continued his tirade if not for the ungentle yank upon his grey locks of hair. "Gah!"

"Would you settle down, choirboy! We're all new at this and trying to learn as best we can." Jessica resettled her pile of pebbles next to her cards. "It doesn't help the light isn't so good around here."

"I've forgotten how many points a large pebble is as opposed to a smaller one." The party leader squinted at his gathering of gravel scratched into the dungeon floor.

Steepling his hands over the bridge of his nose, Angelo inhaled and exhaled audibly for a few moments. "Perhaps I'm the one at fault here. We need to think about a change in scenery." Abruptly he leaped to his feet and walked in a circle around the party.

"First of all, imagine we're in somewhere like the Baccarat casino, only more costly and elegant. It's a private room, reserved for only the well-known players. The richest of woods makes up the intricately carved gaming table."

Jessica closed her eyes, seeing the room take shape behind her lids. "If it's a nice room like you say, I'm sure there's a lovely stand of flowers in the corner. Maybe some statues like my mother has in her home. Only much nicer."

"Now you're putting it together."

"Oh, wot about food? I hear the rich ristcrats get all kinds of food we only 'ere about!"

"Of course there is. This is a casino, after all. The sort of place that does anything to cater to the wealthy. All you need to do is wave up your hand and someone will flutter about, quick to get your order."

Eyes squeezed shut, Yangus waved his fingers in what he thought would be a genteel manner. "'Ey, miss bunnygirl, you mind gettin' me a mug of yer frothiest ale and some of yer best meat?"

"A little pedestrian in taste, Yangus, but you're getting the idea."

"Don't the rich usually wear all kinds of furs and silks? So all the men would be in heavy cloaks and Jessica would be in a dress that attracts all the men?"

Angelo chuckled. "Good point, Akagi. But I thought the way Jessica dressed attracted all men on general principle anyway."

"Listen you..!"

"What a childish game you're all indulging in."

High Priest Rolo's voice hacked away the casino into so many cobwebs of dream. Everyone opened their eyes and gazed upon the dirt floor, rock walls and iron bars of their prison. "I don't believe I asked your opinion," Angelo responded rudely.

"You didn't. I'm merely expressing it because I couldn't resist. A group of adults playing pretend. Don't you have any idea of what we're all in for here?"

Before anyone else had a time to think, the Templar stalked the distance to the High Priest and grabbed him roughly by the collar. "Listen here, you little bribetaker," he snarled. "I think everyone in this prison is aware of where we are and what we're in for. Do you honestly think I want to dwell every second of every day wondering what in the name of the Goddess my brother is doing up there with that staff in his hands? If he's still sane?

"I can't break metal with my hands, I can't pass through rock. My body can't leave this place, but I'll be damned if my mind can't take a break from this hellhole every so often! If all I can do is paint a picture, a beautiful picture of where I'd rather be, I'll do so. And I'm taking everyone I care about with me.

"You can sit and sniff to yourself about the position you lost, being my brother's bootlicker. We, on the other hand, will be wining and dining in the finest casino around, playing poker, a game for the civilized." Tossing the High Priest aside, Angelo went back to his seat and started dealing out another hand.

"Angelo," Akagi started.

Not looking up, the Templar dealt out the rest of the hand. "Gentlemen and lady, let's continue the game. And remember what I said about pairs, Yangus."

"Wot if I got two fives and Jess 'as got two sevens? Who wins then?"

Angelo's sigh seemed so heavy as to weight down the air. "Let me try this again..."

* * *

"I never did get all them rules straight. Even when 'e told 'em t' me over and over," Yangus said, sighing heavily.

"Although I gather trying to learn them under the most trying of conditions didn't help." Jessica looked pointedly at Marcello.

Well, finally someone decided to broach that subject. He'd wondered when that business would start. "I take it you mean me by that statement, Miss Albert? Because if you are, then yes, I know what I did to you all."

Oddly, to his eyes, Jessica seemed a bit taken aback. _Did she think I'd argue the point? Pretend as if I didn't know what she was referring to? _

"What, no preaching about how you know better? How we got what we deserved?"

"Oh, and what a truly glorious plan that turned out to be." Marcello's voice dripped in scorn. "String along the rich with promises in bribes while I was in turn strung along by Rhapthorne, reach the highest pinnacle of power only to have it swept away by my own hand. Well, to be fair, it was the Lord of Darkness' hand, but he used my body and my ambition to do it. I'm sure you can relate to that kind of situation, can you not, Miss Albert?"

Silence ensued, only broken by the soft babbling of little Troicia.

"I don't think we expected you to come here and admit any wrongdoing," Medea ventured finally.

Marcello dropped his gaze to the ground. "It wasn't my intention of doing so. Only...only that these past few days I've had cause to rethink a great many of my sins. But the one thing I came here for was to give you Angelo's journal. It deserves to be with the people he loved the best. He says as much, if you page through it."

"We appreciate that, Marcello. But can I ask you something?"

"Certainly, Your Highness."

"Don't you think that you yourself are..?"

"'Ey granddad! Lookit this here." Yangus waved the journal under his nose. "Some of the pages 'ave been ripped out."

The former Templar captain shrugged. "It was like that when I first paged through it. I don't know what it means any more than you do. Maybe he needed the paper as notes. I really couldn't tell you."

Dusk settled on the grounds, the lanterns now providing much needed illumination. A scattering of fireflies flashed in the air, creating a sea of small moving stars.

"You seem very different, you know."

"I what? How so, prince?"

Akagi gestured toward him with his hand. "It's in your face. All your anger seems to be gone. Replaced with something else."

A retort started on Marcello's lips but died quickly. _It's hard to be angry when you feel like you're bleeding from self-inflicted wounds._

"Well that's funny. Marcello, did you ever flip through this entire thing?"

"Flip through it? It stops almost three quarters in, so no."

The mage balanced the book on the tops of her thighs, opening the back cover. A small leather pocket pressed itself into the cover. "It's sealed with a symbol of some kind. It has to be some kind of magic because I can't budge it."

Curious, all assembled peered at the hidden pocket. "What do you suppose is in there?"

"I'm not sure, your Highness. But the symbol looks familiar."

"Oh, guv! I know wot it is. 'S that ring. You know, the one that got us inside the abbey from the old abbey? 'S wot it looks like."

Sighs escaped nearly everyone. "A Templar's ring? The only one we had is now with..." Jessica trailed off.

Had Marcello tried to speak at that exact moment, his voice would have failed. Taking a sip of wine, he tried again. "I have my captain's ring. When I found this book, I found the ring in a drawer. It might work." Fishing from his pocket, hand trembling, he offered it to the group. "Take it. See if it works."

"Should we be invading his privacy like this? Maybe it's something important," Medea fretted, patting her daughter on the back.

"It could be something he wanted us to have. He wouldn't know we had him...had him buried with his ring on," Akagi finished. He took the ring and fit it into the symbol.

_It's not just me. _The thought finally sunk into Marcello's mind. _It's not just me who wishes he were still here. They just loved him all along, so it's much easier for them to grieve. Did they feel like the pain was so great it could rip them apart?_

The pouch opened easily. "Let's see what we have here." Akagi reached inside and removed several pages of paper, the edges to one side ragged.

"'Ey, that's the pages tore up inside! Why'd 'e 'ide 'em like that?"

The deathly gasp from the prince of Trodain provided an answer as the pages fell from boneless fingers. On the topmost sheet, large slashes of ink formed one sentence that covered the paper:

-- Rhapthorne is waiting for me. --

To be continued...


	5. Letting Go and Living On

Five words. Five words held everyone hostage, frozen still where they sat. Everyone looked at everyone else, afraid to broach the subject of what possibly could be.

Marcello shook off his daze first and reached for the raggedly torn pages, smoothing them against his breeches. It seemed only fitting; he was the one who'd started reading the journal and he'd continue until the bitterest of ends. Licking his lips and swallowing, he started to speak.

"'I can still feel his touch on my skin. I can taste the dregs of the dream. I've swallowed half a bottle of wine to wash out the flavor of that horrible place.

"'He's really waiting for me.'"

* * *

Flying high on the back of the Godbird Empyrea, Angelo, Akagi, Yangus and Jessica soared above the world. The Lord of Darkness, Rhapthorne, hovered in front of them, laughing.

They'd settled on a pattern and hadn't wavered, too afraid a change would spell death to all. Jessica casting Oomph. Yangus using potions and sometimes attacking. Akagi never hesitating and always attacking. Angelo always casting healing on all, no matter the pain thrown at them.

The Templar gasped after another crushing wave of rocks fell. He reached for his magic, pleading for the Goddess to heal them all.

"How interesting. You must dream about this a lot, don't you?"

With those words, the world froze still, down to the very air. A picture of the scene drew away from him, as though someone else had sketched it and set it on a wall. Angelo whirled around.

Rhapthorne, big and powerful and very much not vanquished, waited in the darkness.

"And it's because your mind can't quite let go of it that you finally might remember what really happened."

"What are you bloody talking about?" As it was in dreams, Angelo didn't find it remarkable that his bow sat at the ready on his shoulder. In one swift motion, he drew it and set an arrow at the ready.

A sneer. "As if that can do anything to me. Especially by you."

Angelo snarled. "As if you're real." The arrow whined through the air and struck Rhapthorne between the eyes before melting against the bulbous flesh.

"As I said. Look at the scene again, little Templar."

The compulsion to obey became too strong to resist.

Healing, fighting, spelling, hacking, living, surviving. In between these actions by the party, Rhapthorne threw spells, rocks and the top of his scepter crashing into them. The attacks took their toll, but the party held on gamely.

Angelo's eyes widened. As the attack continued, something of a dark haze began to form around the image of himself and sink into his skin. His own skin tingled in response, chilling him to the bone.

Then, with the party victorious and Rhapthorne defeated, they flew away. But the black haze around Angelo remained before slinking away.

"Didn't you wonder why I seemed to target you so much, little man? It's because I felt the weakness of your own life force. At that moment, I thought of a delightful idea."

The Odin's Bow slipped off Angelo's shoulder, forgotten.

"I thought, if I can't win here, I could try coming back another way and another day. I knew you were weak and with the attacks, I attached a small amount of my life force to you. Just enough that you could live with it and adapt to it but nothing you could see or sense with any spell."

Angelo sank to his knees and wheezed for breath. The air seemed filled with ash and brimstone, coating his lungs and his mouth.

"Of course, having such a power within you would surely crush the life out of you. Too bad for that. But as you weren't going to be living very long anyway, no one would suspect."

"Why?" he finally whispered. "Why are you telling me this?"

Rhapthorne grinned, shark's teeth flashing. "Because I want you to know that you're going to be my gateway. You're going to bring me back and there's nothing you can do about it. At the last breaths of your life, I'll be waiting and come back into the world into your husk.

"But most of all, dear Templar, I'm telling you this because I want you to FEAR."

* * *

Marcello turned his eyes back to the next page in sequence that read, "It was only a dream."

"Cor blimey. You mean 'e 'ad this dream and scared 'im so bad 'e 'id it away?"

"Does that mean when he...we didn't imagine it all?" Jessica asked no one in particular.

The former Templar captain swung his gaze to the mage like a predatory bird. "What are you talking about?"

Yangus, Jessica and Akagi sat staring at the ground with various degrees of shock.

"I asked you what the hell you were talking about!" he screamed.

"Oh my...then that's what...but hang on!" King Trode raised his voice, drawing the attention of everyone. "It doesn't matter if it's true or not. If the dream wasn't true, then all was well. But if it was...things are still all well. We all defeated Rhapthorne once and for all and there's no possibility of him ever coming back."

Pregnant silence.

"Do you mean to tell me that my brother dreamed the _truth?"_

"Marcello, it's not only you that have had a very hard time dealing with the death of that whom we all loved. It's just that for some of us, we happened to see something frightening at the very last that until now, we didn't understand."

"Then by all means, _Your Highness,_ please explain it to me."

"For that, we all need to recall the events of the very last moments of Angelo's life. As painful as they are, we have to piece them all together to tell his very last story."

Everyone nodded. Medea sniffed away tears. "I wasn't there. I was still in bed, my little one not yet born. I'll write it all down here, in his journal and then we'll work it out together."

A quill was produced and the princess, setting aside her sleeping daughter on the grass, wrote down observations one by one, weaving them together into truth.

* * *

Marcello, Akagi, Jessica and Yangus sat talking a table in Angelo's room. Angelo lay abed but close at hand. After hearing silence after asking a question, the prince of Trodain leaped from his bed and hovered close. "Goddess, his skin's growing chill and he's breathing all strange. I think... I think..."

Abruptly, Marcello stood up. "I'll go get King Trode. And a priest." Swiftly, he ran out of the room, the door banging shut behind him.

As the three remaining friends gathered around the bed, Angelo's breathing grew more raspy and strained.

"Oh bloody 'ell, not like this." Yangus vainly tried loosening the collar of Angelo's nightshirt. "Jess, guv, do somefin for 'im."

"What do you want me to do?!" Jessica screamed back. "I can't do anything!"

Laying both hands on the Templar's chest, Akagi slammed a healing spell into the dying body. Angelo screamed, eyes flying open and body shuddering in a seizure. "Hang onto him!"

All three of them clenched the flailing man, and as they did so, saw the light of the room fade, hazed by darkness.

"Rha...Rhap...thorne...Rhap...thorne..."

Something impossibly huge and without hope began to crush the life out of everything in the room. "_Angelo!"_

The seizure ended and the darkness retreated. "Bloody 'ell, bloody 'ell," Yangus moaned. "Whas 'appenin' to 'im?!"

The door burst open. King Trode huffed as he ran to the bedside. "Is he..?"

"He's having a seizure and some kind of dream," Akagi replied, slowly relaxing his grip on Angelo. The Templar's breathing rasped in his throat, his eyes looking beyond them into some other place.

Trode fussed the three of them away and clasped onto one of the dying man's chilled hands. "Angelo, I don't know if you can hear any of us, but I want you to know that whatever you're facing, you're not alone. All of us are here with you. You're in a lot of pain but be brave. It'll be over very soon."

Angelo's breathing seemed to slacken, the pain his face lessening in small degrees.

Marcello and the castle priest entered the room then. "We're here. Please, Father, provide the last rites."

No one could remember the priest's words, giving solace to the the living and soon to be dead. Akagi and Yangus reached quickly to grab Angelo as the Templar's body arced, fearing him to convulse again.

"All of you, please say your last words. He is nearly done."

"Angelo...oh Angelo...I promise I'll be happy," Jessica whispered.

"Goodbye, my friend," Akagi said, eyes haunted.

"You be waitin' for us when it's our turn, all right?" Yangus asked him, not expecting an answer.

Trode tried to find words to say, but could not.

"Please, may I?" Marcello asked the priest. At the man's nod, he dipped his fingers into the chrism, marking Angelo's forehead with the holy symbol of the Goddess. "Angelo, may the divine protection of the Goddess be with your soul on its journey to her side."

Angelo's body seemed to relax just then, his eyelids heavy.

To Jessica, Yangus and Akagi, it seemed they heard a voice, someone screaming from a great distance and all they heard was the impression of words: "Come back here! Don't go!"

The Templar closed his eyes then and sighed very softly, body going limp.

It was Marcello who reached forward, fingers at the pulse.

"He's gone."

* * *

"Wait. You said you heard a voice? You three actually heard something?" King Trode asked them, rubbing his eyes.

"Yeah, only I thought it was just me," Yangus admitted. "I thought...dunno, that I dreamt it right there."

"But if we all heard it, then it means what?"

"Jessica, it means that everyone saved him." Medea tapped her hand on the journal. "If Angelo really did dream the truth, then what you all did was stop Rhapthorne from coming back. All of you together did it.

"Think about it!" She pointed at the three of them. "You all stopped him from hurting himself. Father talked him from pain. Marcello got a priest that said the final benediction and blessed him. Angelo is safe, beyond all harm."

Marcello closed his eyes. _Safe from all harm and all contact forever. At least if this story is the truth as we all saw it, I at least did one thing right for my brother. _The others seemed relieved to finally put together the pieces of the story they'd been holding onto for a year. _Somehow, we helped him beyond the reach of all pain. He's at peace. And that's the end._

"I'm bothered by one thing," Trode said finally.

"Wot's that, granddad?"

"This extremely painful memory by all of us should not be the last image we have of him. This is completely not fair and it's plagued all of us."

"But we can't help it. It's all we have left. We don't have any more stories left," Jessica said, her voice a quiet whisper.

"Not true, not true! There's still one more story left to tell." Trode left his place at the gathering to sit immediately next to Marcello. "Once upon a time, Angelo reluctantly told me a story of how the two of you first met. For whatever reason, I was the first person among us that he told."

"We all heard that story eventually," Medea said, patting her baby. "He always seemed saddened by it, years later."

"I'm...not surprised," Marcello murmured. "I was very cruel to him."

"So...that's what's different about you," Jessica said, snapping her fingers. "You really miss him, don't you?"

"'e'd always be on 'bout you, 'e was. But 'e never lost 'ope in you either."

"That's quite kind of both of you. But hope is something I can never give him ever again. I'm too late for so many things."

"Not quite, lad," reminded Trode. "I did say I had one more story. After the confusion surrounding his death, the funeral, the day to day goings on, a granddaughter born, life continuing, I'd forgotten something important. But seeing you here makes me realize I need to tell you this.

"Marcello, at the very last, you did the one thing that no one else gathered here could ever do in all the time that we knew him."

* * *

No more than an hour or so past noon, Trode finally stole time away from his advisors to check the truth of the rumors: that Marcello came to visit his brother. Turning down one path in the gardens, he did indeed see the former Templar captain fielding questions from Akagi, Jessica and Yangus. But where was Angelo?

Taking another path, he saw the young man sitting in a wheeled chair, wrapped securely in blankets and enjoying the afternoon sun. "Ah, there you area."

Angelo opened his eyes and turned around. "Oh, King Trode," he answered in a soft breathy voice, as though he lacked the strength to speak any louder.

"I see that your brother is here. Is...is everything well," he finally asked, walking up to the Templar. He then saw the answer to his question in Angelo's own face: a wide smile without the barest hint of cynicism.

"My brother came for me." Blue eyes crinkled up at the corner, soft with feeling. "He really came for me. He's not yelling or accusing. He's just here. He's _looking_ at me, King Trode."

"Oh my." The king of Trodain felt a loss of words. It was certainly the last scenario anyone really expected.

Angelo laughed quietly. "I just can't believe it. I'm so very _happy_. He said he'd stay." He turned in his chair to fully face the king and for a moment, the Templar looked hale and whole. "The one thing I've wanted for so very long and I have it. Everything else, all the animosity, all the cruelty, it's over. It's done."

"Do you...do you really believe that?" He hated to ask the question, but Trode knew how very tricky Marcello could be.

"I do. All of that is in the past. He came for me. So we can start over. I forgive him. I'll tell him soon as I can. Everything's going to be all right."

* * *

Marcello's eyes saw nothing of the present, imagining the sound of his brother's voice. His hands crept up of their own accord to cover his face.

"With all the confusion that happened then with all of you together, Angelo must not have told you. I didn't think about it until you came here that you must not have known."

Doubtless, it looked odder still that his knees drew up to his chin, as though he needed his whole body to hold back his emotions.

"All of us were with him on that journey together. We could make him smile and get angry, but none of us could quite make him happy." He felt the touch of Jessica's slim hand on his shoulder.

A strange keening sound worked its way out of Marcello's throat.

"Y'know, 'e always believed you 'ad good in you, somewhere so deep nobody but 'im could see. That's why when you came t' visit, it must've been the best thing ever." Yangus blew noisily into a handkerchief.

"You came here because you wanted to be forgiven, didn't you? By us maybe, but somehow by Angelo. Looks like he did that a long time ago.

"But now it's all right for you to grieve, Marcello," Akagi continued, his voice wavering. "Don't think you never had a right to grieve."

He'd been so good at denying himself everything. Visions, memories, sensations of the person he could no longer see. But one by one, they came back and all the walls came tumbling down. The very last resistance crumbled and Marcello gasped in great sobs.

"_I want to see my brother! Angelo! ANGELO!"_

Every slight, every hatred, every pain flashed behind his eyelids. Countless cruelties heaped on the one person who loved him in the world seemed thrown back at him a hundredfold.

The loss of power, of prestige, of holding the world by the reins meant utterly nothing. They seemed so petty in comparison to the gut wrenching pain of finally seeing the loss of the most truly meaningful thing in his life.

At the dawn of a new day, Marcello awoke, his head pounding, eyes red with weeping. He looked up and saw that the party had left him there, to grieve under the limbs of the tree. Angelo's tree.

He couldn't talk to him any more. There were no more stories to read in the journal. Even with the admission that he'd been forgiven his sins, Marcello felt unworthy of it.

"You told me once that you weren't going to let me die. That I -would- go on living, knowing that you who I had despised, took pity on me.

"You're wrong about one thing. I don't hate you anymore. So all I have is your blessing and curse, that I will go on living. Only time and the blessing of the Goddess will see fit if I can do something other than hate."

It felt so easy to just sit here, forehead resting against the bark of the tree. But he had his brother's forgiveness and his blessing to live.

Marcello was not about to waste the gift of reconciliation.

The stories say that Marcello worked tirelessly afterward to make up for the many sins he'd committed. Backed firmly by the support of his friends, he made amends, one by one. He left the orphanage in the care of Misty, as he'd been charged to be the Abbot of Maella Abbey. It was said he made sure to follow in the work of old Abbot Francisco, taking in those who had no homes. Only he made sure that nothing like the hatred he'd once had for his brother ever found root in that holy place.

As for the heroes of the age, stories grew in time and fact became fanciful story, deeds becoming legends. So taken by the stories of their namesakes, Alistair and Angelo, the twin sons of Jessica and Harper, took to adding a bit of themselves into the story.

They never outright admitted it, but whenever their parents and the other heroes of the age came together in Trodain to celebrate the defeat of evil and the passing of a friend, rumors showed up. That men wearing red with grey hair led lost children to the safety the kingdom.

Not even faced with the inability to work the grey dye from their rather orange heads of hair did the twins confess. Everyone let it slide.

Abbot Marcello smiled whenever he heard the story. He rather thought his brother would approve. He never sought out power higher than an abbot, afraid to let the past repeat itself.

All he knew he had to do was cling to a simple sentence and hopefully, one day, the Goddess would grant that all things be forgiven.

_"You will go on living."_

THE END


End file.
